


Jet Plane

by masulevin



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Clothed Sex, Dirty Talk, Drugged Sex, Dual Survivors, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Female Ejaculation, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Open Relationships, Pearl Necklace, Recreational Drug Use, Smoking, Vaginal Fingering, hancock pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 15:18:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17046086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masulevin/pseuds/masulevin
Summary: Hancock finds Quinn sitting alone in her house, nursing a bad mood and a cigarette. He offers something to cheer her up, and she takes even more.





	Jet Plane

**Author's Note:**

> After Quinn and I fell in love with Hancock, I played through as her husband and I fell in love with him. So their official canon (for me) is them BOTH surviving and facing down the Commonwealth together. They do have an established open relationship, and it works really well for them.
> 
> Also, shoutout to cassandrapentayaaaaas on tumblr for a) making me play Fallout 4 with her, and b) naming this pairing Quinncock.

“I thought I’d find you in here, sister.” 

Quinn looks up at his voice, peering at him over the top of the frayed magazine she’s perusing. A thin column of smoke rises from the cigarette carefully pinched between her two fingers, and she rakes her eyes over his form like she always does when he suddenly appears, like she’s trying to remind herself who  _ he _ is and where  _ she _ is. He doesn’t mind. He likes to pretend it’s out of admiration, sometimes he preens a little to earn one of her lopsided grins.

She doesn’t smile today though, just lowers her magazine and taps her cigarette against the little ashtray he remembers her unearthing from the settlement filled with super mutants. “This isn’t a good time, Hancock.”

He shrugs and lets the front door swing closed behind him as though that will give them any sense of privacy with the tall windows and holes still in every wall. “Thought it might be.” He settles himself on the couch opposite her chair, slouching on the surprisingly soft cushions and propping one foot up on her coffee table. “Whole town heard you and the mister last night. Wasn’t sure if I’d find him gone or the two of you makin’ up over the whole house.”

Her lips twitch, but she covers the motion by lifting her cigarette and taking a long drag. The tip lights up red, but he watches her mouth instead. She exhales the smoke pointedly in his direction. “Thought you might catch a show?”

He grins, settling himself more comfortably in the cradle of the couch cushions as an excuse for spreading his legs a little wider, just to see if she’ll follow the motion. She does, and his smile widens just that much more. “I wouldn’t turn one down, if you’re offering.”

She finally laughs at that, just a little one, but it feels like a victory. “Nate and I had a bit of a disagreement over how much help the Brotherhood can offer us,” she explains, as though he doesn’t already know the details from their screaming match, as though a  _ bit of a disagreement  _ encompasses the slammed doors and leaving the safety of Sanctuary in the middle of the night. “He took his opinions to get Danse’s input.” Another deep drag, then she flicks the ash off the end of the cigarette, not quite meeting his eye. 

“Sounds like you need something stronger than old Luckies,” he says, reaching blindly for the inside of his coat, where the inner pockets are full of little treats just for situations like this. She knows what he means, and her eyes sharpen as she follows the movement. “You look like you could use this.” He pulls out an inhaler of Jet and tosses it to her, grinning still when she catches it easily with her off hand. 

She eyes the inhaler. “Haven’t done this since law school,” she says, mostly to herself, and against he finds himself wondering about the pre-war Quinn, how she ever managed to survive sitting at home alone all day with just a baby and a Mr. Handy to keep her company. She turns the little bit of plastic around, considering, then raises it to her lips to take a single puff. Conservative, but if it’s been as long as she says…

The look she gives him when she opens her eyes, pupils blown a little wider, cheeks a little pinker under her freckles and pale spots she calls vitiligo, makes him catch his breath. She blinks once, slowly, and then tosses the inhaler to him as she exhales a small cloud of vapor. He obeys her wordless command, inhaling deeper and longer than she did, sighing as the chems hit his system and the world begins to slow.

When he opens his eyes again, she’s still looking at him, her head cocked to the side like Dogmeat when he hears something in the distance. She blinks real slow at him, like her body has changed to accept the speed of the Jet and she can’t move any faster than anything else. 

“This is… nice.” She puts her cigarette out in the ashtray with too-careful motions, like she’s afraid she’ll move too fast, and then she pulls the tie out of her hair to let the white locks fall around her face. She giggles, a high, girlish sound, and he wishes he’d given her a Jet inhaler weeks ago.

She can’t keep her hands still all of a sudden, fluttering from her hair to her face to her neck to the buttons of her dress, then to the belt and the folds of her full skirt before fluttering back up. The flush deepens on her cheeks until he starts to worry she’s having a bad reaction -- he feels fine, so the batch isn’t bad, but maybe her tolerance really is too low? -- but then she just slumps down in her armchair to match his pose and pops the top button of her dress.

“I just remembered why I haven’t used Jet in two hundred years,” she says, voice crisp and clear despite her stilted movements.

He sits up with both feet on the floor and props his elbows on his knees, ready to help if she needs it, maybe find some Addictol somewhere in the town, the Jet inhaler forgotten in one hand. “Doin’ okay there?”

She grins at him, a full smile so he can see all her straight white teeth. “I could be doing better.” Her voice is kinda husky, lower than usual, and he starts to get a good idea of what the problem is. “I forgot Jet always does this.”

_ This  _ is left up to his imagination, but his imagination, even as active as it usually is, can’t quite keep up with the fluttering movement of her fingers as they undo another button of her blouse and expose just the top of something lacy underneath, some impractical undergarment leftover from pre-war times, something that she’s wearing because it reminds her of simpler times. Her hands, though, once they’ve exposed her skin turn to cupping her breasts, firm, almost all-business instead of teasing. Her knees fall a bit farther apart, everything above her calves hidden under swath of blue fabric, and her lips part on a tiny moan as she squeezes herself again.

_ This  _ is painfully obvious, and he shifts in his seat as he wars with what to do. “You got an itch your husband ain’t scratching, Sunshine?”

Her eyes open with painful slowness. If the mention of her husband puts off her mood, she doesn’t show it. She just licks her lips as she studies him, fingers pinching her nipples through layers of fabric. “He’s off scratching Scribe Haylen’s itches, I think,” she says, though she doesn’t sound particularly upset about it. She just offers him a wry smile and sits up, the front of her dress gaping open as she leans toward him. “That’s kind of our arrangement.”

He perks up at that, both his Jet-addled mind and his cock, always interested in her but now about to be invited into the conversation. “Arrangement?” He licks his thin lips and absolutely notices how her eyes track the movement.

She nods, sliding forward in her chair until she’s perched right at the edge of it. He can see more of the lace contraption she’s wearing under her dress now, the shadow between her breasts, and he doesn’t hide where his gaze has fallen even when she finally starts to answer his question.

“We met during the war, you see. We were both in Anchorage, at the front lines, and got married before I came back to Boston for school. We were apart… a lot. We always agreed we could, mmm, have our itches scratched? As long as we were honest about it. I had a girlfriend all through law school… sometimes, when Nate was on leave, all three of us would share a hotel room together, but usually it was just me and her on our own…”

Her voice trails off.

He meets her eyes and finishes the thought, “Just the two of you on your own, getting your itches scratched.”

Her eyes are so dark now. They almost match his. She slides from her seat and moves to the table in front of him, moving intimately close into his space. He doesn’t jump when her fingers touch his, though it’s a near thing, and he doesn’t move away when she pulls the inhaler from his hands and lifts it to her lips.

His heart is absolutely trying to beat its way out of his chest. He leaves his elbows on his knees, hands clenched into fists, as she presses the plunger and takes a long breath, holding it deep in her chest before tilting her head to her right and exhaling the vapor directly into his face.

He’s on her before she has time to finish, his open mouth against hers to share the Jet, one hand tightening into a fist in her hair and the other cupping one of her breasts. She groans, tongue sliding against his, and climbs into his lap with her hands grasping the lapels of his coat to give her leverage to move into position.

Her hands slide up his chest to the back of his head, knocking his hat to the floor behind the couch, her bitten-off fingernails digging into his scalp. He yanks at her blouse, undoing the last button before the wide belt that cinches it all together at her waist, and then he has his hands on her tits and it’s just as glorious as he imagined. He groans into her mouth and she grinds down into his lap at his touch, not at all concerned that he’s a ghoul and his skin is rough and he doesn’t even have a nose anymore, and if this is how she reacts when she’s high on Jet he’s going to have to keep a lot more on hand, that’s for fuckin’ sure.

He breaks away from her lips, delicious as they are, to trail kisses down her throat toward the expanse of skin calling to him below her dress. She leans back, one hand on his knee and the other cradling the back of his head, and gasps each time his ruined lips touch her perfect skin. He pulls the lace out of the way and bares one nipple to his questing mouth, and as soon as his tongue touches the bud she’s moaning his name and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard in all his goddamned life.

“Mmm, yeah, John. Bite me.”

Who is he to deny such a request? He obeys, teeth worrying over her nipple with what he’s sure is too much pressure, but she just shivers in his arms and arches closer to him. She’s still grinding against him without any rhythm, and the uneven pressure is making his dick strain against his pants like it’s trying to sink into her of its own free will.

He takes his free hand and starts searching for the hem of her ridiculous dress -- really, what are the chances she’d be wearing a dress in front of him for the first time  _ today?  _ \-- and slides up her bare leg toward her thigh. She releases a muffled moan, and when he looks up from where his face is still pressed against her chest, he can see both her lips caught between her teeth obviously trying to stay quiet as he works to make her as loud as possible.

He’s waited too damn long to get her in his lap for her to be fighting to stay silent like this, but the challenge flies out of his mind the second his fingers reach between her thighs and feels the wetness on her skin. She’s soaked straight through whatever underwear she has on, and it’s dripping down her legs and onto the back of her dress. His dick twitches at the realization even as his brain acknowledges _ this  _ must be what she meant when she said Jet always does this to her. 

“Fuck, Sunshine,” he rasps out, lifting his head enough to look her in the eyes. Her cheeks are flushed, skin reddened all the way down to her chest, and he pauses to press a kiss to the border between red and cream. “You’re fuckin’ soaked. What’s got you all worked up, then?”

She nods, eyes still closed. Her grip on his skull tightens, then releases. “You.” A simple answer for an obvious question, but his pride grows at hearing the beautiful admission. He slips his hand a little farther up her skirt and she spreads her legs even wider for him. The seat of her panties is completely wet through, and he gives her the barest of pressure, just to tease more information out of her. She gives in, caves without even a token struggle, forcing her eyes open to stare at him with green eyes that have been overtaken by black. “I’ve wanted this since I saw you,” she says, voice catching on  _ you _ as he presses harder in reward. “Since you took out that asshole trying to sell us insurance and twirled your knife around after, like it was nothing. I knew you’d be good with your, with your fingers.”

She’s damn right he’s good with his fingers, and he pulls her panties aside to prove it, making her stumble over her story and catch her breath even though he’s still barely touched her. Poor girl’s so worked up he can probably have her coming in his hand after no more than three minutes, and he sets the challenge in his mind, ready to give her what she’s desperate for, but then she’s talking again and he can’t focus on listening and fingering at the same time.

“Nate, uh, he thought I was crazy when I told him,” she says, like it’s natural as anything to bring up her husband when she’s in another man’s lap, like it’s natural as anything for her to be telling her husband when she wants another man in her bed. “But I think he f-figured it out when you knocked down that super mutant by punching it in the throat.”

He remembers the mutie she’s talking about, remembers the spike of adrenaline that surged through him when he used his last shotgun shell trying to take it out but it just kept running at him, remembers how he’d clawed at the thing’s face in a fit of desperation once it got too close. He’d knocked it down and Quinn’s shot clean through its skull had kept it down, and when he made eye contact with her, she’d had an odd look on her face, not dissimilar to the one she’d had when he walked into her house.

_ Oh. _

“You told your husband you wanted a ghoul’s fingers in your pussy?” He tempers his question by doing just that, sliding two in straight to the second knuckle. She muffles another moan, biting at her lips and squeezing her eyes closed, then she rests her forehead against his as she gasps for air. She’s so wet the slide is easy, no resistance at all, no sign she’s put off by his radiation-burned skin. “Didn’t those old-world vows have something about fidelity in them?”

She shakes her head, hard enough to make her hair tickle his cheeks. “I mean, yeah I told him. I just, I just,  _ God _ , John…” He’s distracting her too much for her to talk, just pumping his fingers in and out of her without even trying to find the right spot inside or her clit. She clenches around him and shivers, and he tilts his head enough to muffle his own groan against her mouth. She parts her lips for him and their tongues brush together until she pulls away with a gasp. “You feel so good…”

“And what did Nate say when his pretty little wife told him she wanted a ghoul instead of him?” He fucks into her harder with his fingers and her thighs begin to tremble. She’s close and getting closer. 

Her fingers twitch on his scalp at his words, and he has no doubt she’d be tugging on his hair if he had any. As it is, her fingernails dig into his skin and he hisses, shaking his head to dislodge her grip. She doesn’t budge, digging in with her other hand into his knee too. “I just, I said I wanted both of you to take me at the same time…” She trails off, but he adds his thumb to her clit as a reward, both for her honesty and for the mental image of fucking her at the same time as her husband. He’s always had eyes for Quinn, but it’s not like Nate ain’t handsome too. 

“I guess he wasn’t excited about the idea?” He can  _ hear  _ his fingers inside of her, the wet movements driving him crazy. She’s so warm in his lap, too warm, squirming and gasping, her voice catching on her words when he catches her just right. “Didn’t want my hands on you?” He pushes harder at her clit and her whole body seizes, and he thinks she’s gone over the edge, but she just whines and shakes all over instead. She’s so close he can practically taste it -- and he can definitely smell it. He’ll be smelling it for days.

She’s breathless when she finds her words to answer his question: “He just, he just…” A pause, another gasp; she  _ has  _ to hear it too, it must be driving her crazy. Her slick is running down his hand and dripping off his wrist. If he tries hard enough, gets her just right, he can probably get her to squirt all over him. “He doesn’t care, I told you. Fuck, John, I’m gonna come like this.”

“That’s the idea, sweetheart,” he says, but even so he slows his fingers again, takes his thumb off her clit. ”What did he do?”

She chews on her lower lip before she answers. “He just put his fingers in my mouth while he fucked me from behind, said to think about your cock in my mouth.” Her voice catches each time he thrusts into her, and she clenches rhythmically around his fingers. Anything will set her off now, and he knows just the thing. 

“Like this?” He moves his free hand from her hair to her mouth, holding her chin and hooking his thumb between her lips to press down on her tongue. She sucks hard at the digit and nods and then she’s coming on his fingers, shaking, whining, clenching him hard with hands and pussy, and goddamn if that isn’t almost enough to make him come in his pants like a fucking teenager.

It seems to go on forever, and her teeth sink a little too hard into the flesh of his thumb, and he’s leaking into his pants by the time she calms down enough to release him. Her eyes blink open slowly and she offers him a slow grin, all teeth and promises for more, and he lifts her before he has time to think about it. She sighs at the loss of his fingers but doesn’t otherwise react, holding onto him as he carries her through her old house and into her bedroom, doesn’t object to him placing her on the bed she shares with Nate, just laughs as he flips her skirt up and yanks her panties down out of the way of his view.

“You’re fuckin’ soaked,” he says, like she doesn’t already know, can’t feel her slick on her thighs and on the fabric of her dress. “Think I can get you to squirt for me?” He shucks his jacket and shirt, letting them both fall to the floor out of his way, and she doesn’t react to seeing him bare-chested in his room beyond a faint smirk.

She stretches her arms above her head and arches her back a bit, and her tits bounce with the movement. Shit, if this is his only time seeing this, he’s going to take full advantage. He can already tell this is going to be a memory he’ll cherish for the rest of his radiation-lengthened life.

“You’re welcome to fucking try,” she says, eyes closed and head still tipped back, issuing the challenge like her voice isn’t slurred from the Jet and her first orgasm. He bares his teeth and bends over her to bite her already reddened nipples. She offers him another moan, this one open-mouthed and loud above his head, and he finally reaches down to undo his pants and pull out his dick. 

He’s so hard it actually hurts, and he wants to fucking bury himself in her and never let her go. The moans she’s releasing with each breath make him think she’d be okay with that, but he has plans, and those plans involve something other than his dick, much as the body part in question disagrees. He strokes himself with one hand as he teases her up again, then sits back and pushes two fingers back into her.

Her knees fall farther apart, an invitation plain as the nose on her face, and she leaves her hands above her head as he crooks his fingers just right… 

“Right there,” she says, a helpful moan falling from her lips once his fingers are in the perfect spot, and he lets out a hoarse chuckle as he presses hard into her over and over. Her body tenses as he works his hand into her, hard fast motions that he’s pretty sure will push her right over the edge in record time, her thighs trembling so hard he has to lean his free arm across her hips to hold her steady, leaving his dick unattended.

Each thrust of his fingers makes her moan, a steadily growing crescendo he’s sure the neighbors can hear and will probably be whispering about as soon as they’re done. The General shacking up with a ghoul while her husband’s run off to join the Brotherhood? The scandal.

She doesn’t seem to care, moaning and covering her eyes with both hands like she’ll be able to hide from his gaze or his fingers. He’s breathing near as hard as she is, wrist and arm burning from the repetitive motions, but it’s worth it when she begins to lose it again. He puts more pressure on her hips and thrusts into her harder, faster, wanting…

“That’s it, Sunshine,” he says, voice low and scratchy. She clenches around his fingers. “Let go. Come for me again. I want you to cover me in it.” He leans down and bites at her chest, content to get any bit of skin between his teeth with the way she’s fighting against him. He makes contact and she wails, hips bucking up almost enough to push him off, so he releases her and sits up enough to watch as she begins to come.

Just as he hoped, just as he thought she would, a rush of liquid pours out of her as she convulses on his hand, soaking the blanket and his pants and covering his arm. He laughs, raw and delighted, and she presses her hands to her mouth as it goes on forever and ever.

They’re both soaked when she’s through, and he sits back onto his heels with a smug sense of pride welling in his chest. It’s probably the Jet that did it, that relaxed her enough that she gave into his games, but he couldn’t be happier if he tried.

He uses his wet hand to stroke his dick, her arousal working as lubrication. He hisses and falls over her, propping himself up with his free hand as he jerks himself with rough motions, focusing on the tip that’s almost too sensitive to be touched by his rough fingers.

She blinks up at him after a minute, eyes glassy, gaze sliding down his front to see what he’s doing, then back up at him with a growing smile. He expects her to be tired after that, after coming so hard, but she just reaches up to cup his face in her hands and guides him down to kiss her.

Her tongue traces his lips, slides against his, a slow stroking so different than the hand between his legs pushing him as fast as possible to completion. Her fingers stroke over his scalp and then her nails scratch his skin, and he groans into her mouth. He’s going to come.

She must feel it in the sudden erratic rhythm of his hand, or in his groan, or in his gasping breaths, because she nips at his lower lip once before pushing him back up so she can blink up at him. Her cheeks are still bright red, all the lines around her eyes and forehead smoothed out with relaxation, and then she says the most beautiful words he’s ever heard a woman say.

“Come right here.” She taps at her chest, between those perfect breasts. “Return the favor. Let me feel it.”

_ Fuck.  _ “Fuck, yeah, alright. You got it, sweetheart.” He shifts up over her, and he might feel bad about how he’s crowding her into the bed if she hadn’t specifically asked for it. “Real close.”

The bed’s shaking. He’s snarling. Her fingers are dancing up the inside of his thigh toward his sac like they’re on a fuckin’ mission, and as soon as they make contact he’s growling through his orgasm as he fulfills her request and comes over her chest in long, hot ropes.

“Yeah, that’s it,” she murmurs. “Oh, you’re beautiful. Good boy, John.”

That wrings another shuddering spurt out of him, and then he collapses onto the mattress next to her. His eyes are closed so he can’t see her as the pleasure subsides, but he can feel her shifting around until she makes a quiet little moan and he forces his eyes open to see what the fuck she’s doing now.

She has two fingers in her mouth and her eyes closed, but it’s obvious she’s tasting his come right now, she’s swiped it up from her tits and is fucking sucking on her fingers like they’re berry mentats, and his dick gives a valiant effort to get hard again but it’s too soon so he just makes a wounded noise.

She opens one eye, then the other, then turns to grin at him as her fingers pop out of her mouth. “Delicious,” she says, and he gapes at her with an unbelieving expression on his face. She goes to swipe up more, but he props himself up on his elbow to catch her hand.

“You shouldn’t do that,” he says, voice raspy and full of regret. “Rads.”

She blinks at him, considering, then nods and stretches her arms above her head again. “I’ll take a rad-x next time, then,” she says, and his heart could stop at the idea of a  _ next time.  _ “Right now, you’ll have to clean it up for me.”

He doesn’t move right away, momentarily confused, then she wiggles her shoulders and he snaps to attention. He bends over her, licking her chest, cleaning her up with long swipes of his tongue. She moans when he passes over her nipple, so he lingers, making sure it’s thoroughly clean before moving on. When he’s done, he stretches back out next to her and tries to catch his breath.

He’s just talking himself into getting up and leaving so she can get cleaned up when she rolls onto her side and tucks herself against him, breasts wet and bare against his side. He wraps one arm around her shoulder and rests his cheek against the top of her head. 

Yeah. He could get used to this. Maybe Nate running off to the Brotherhood isn’t the worst thing that could’ve happened after all.


End file.
